Black Robin (Arya Stark)
by Kiara Biersack
Summary: The day they hanged Black Robin, the air was clear and still...
1. Prologue

In front of a bakery on the Street of Flour, a fight broke out. A boy of merely ten years thrashed in the grip of the baker who dragged him by the scruff of his neck, muttering angry curses all the while. The boy wrestled with the baker, trying to hold back tears as he begged to be let go. He shouted apologies as he was dragged before Lord Janos Slynt, the commander of the city watch.

The baker let out a huff as he explained himself. "Caught this little creature in the back of my stores. By the time I grabbed him, he already had his hands on a loaf of bread and two lemon cakes."

Lord Janos eyed the boy with a kind of sadistic joy. He smiled faintly at the baker. "I think you've caught the vermin that's been causing problems in the city," he said. "You'll be rewarded for this. Go on, then, while I give him his punishment."

The baker nodded, releasing the boy, who suddenly spun, tripping over his own feet as he attempted to run. Janos caught his arm, pulling him harshly back. "How old are you?" he demanded.

A faint smile crept onto the boy's face. Any time a noble caught him, he could get out of punishment easily with his young age. "Ten, m'lord," he said.

"Ten?" Janos asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Do you know the punishment for stealing?"

The boy shook his head. "No, m'lord."

Janos nodded faintly. "The punishment for stealing is to lose a hand," he said. "Unless you'd rather join the Night's Watch. I'm sure they could do with a sneaky thing like you."

The boy's blue eyes widened. "Make your choice," Janos instructed. "And it will be carried out."

The boy knew that the Night's Watch was a death sentence. He would die cold and alone with tears frozen to his pale cheeks. "Hand," he said quickly, in a voice that was weak and strained with tears. "Take my hand."

Lord Janos nodded once more, and he drew forth a sword from his scabbard. "Do you use your right hand or your left?" he asked.

"Right," the boy replied.

Janos pulled him toward a table at the corner of the room, and he stretched the boy's right arm across the wood. The boy felt his entire body tense, and he closed his blue eyes tightly. He begged himself not to cry.

Lord Janos raised his blade high. When he swung it down, the boy could hear the rush of air and the sudden sound of metal cleaving its way through bone. He opened his mouth and from his lips came forth a horrible sound.

He was only a boy, though he now knew the suffering of men three times his age.


	2. Chapter One

A boy of thirteen walked the Street of Steel, his left hand balled into a tight fist and his head bowed low. They called him Black Robin and he roamed Flea Bottom, taking what he pleased.

Or, at least, he had taken what he pleased. For three years he had stayed in the dark, hidden in the shadows like the freak he was. No one would care to give a crippled boy a thing, and the loss of his hand left him a grotesque in the eyes of the nobles who lived in the Red Keep.

He was sure to be caught if he ever tried to steal again. When he was young he could blend in with other children, but with one hand, he was forever labeled a thief. That was why he had children to steal for him. Minor things; bruised apples from a fruit stand, the fat-covered pieces of meat that no one wanted from the butcher, the half-scorched loaves of bread that bakers used to feed their pigs. Things the nobles would turn their noses at, but that Robin and his friends would devour with the greed of starving men.

He stopped his walk to look into a blacksmith's shop. A man hammered away at a blade, the steel alight with glowing sparks. Beside him stood a younger man, who's black hair shone brightly with every burst of sparks.

Robin smiled despite himself, daring to take a step closer. His arm hit a rack of shields, and the clattering of metal filled his ears.

The younger man turned to face him with surprising speed. "What is it?" the elder asked.

"Nothing but a street rat," the younger man said, and he stepped toward Robin, his blue eyes locked on him. "Get on, then."

"I was just watching," Robin said quickly.

"I don't care what you were doing. Go. We don't need you ruining business."

Robin glared, but that did not deter the man. "Piss off," he urged, and he started to reach for Robin's arm.

Robin pulled his arm away quickly, turning and breaking into a run. The man watched him go, shaking his head.

Once he was far enough away, cloaked in the shadow of an alley, Robin sat. He turned his right arm, examining the scarred skin where his hand had once been. In the three years since the incident that had cost him his hand, he had been sure to stay far away from the Street of Flour. His friends were glad to go there in his stead, and if they were lucky, they would bring him back lemon cakes.

"Robin?"

His eyes shot up to examine the mud-covered face of one of the many children he'd taken under his wing. Poppy, whose mother had been a Septa. Whose mother had been murdered one night, body thrown into the Blackwater.

"Poppy," he greeted, raising his left hand in a wave.

She took a step into the alley. She seemed hesitant. Robin suddenly remembered her fear of the dark, and he rose to his feet, taking a few steps toward her. "It's all right, Poppy," he said. "I'm all that's in here. Just me and the rats."

She giggled and stepped further into the darkness, though Robin saw her hands quivering. He was used to living in the shadows, but there were many who were not. "Did you need me, Poppy?" he asked, and he smiled to ease her nerves.

"I got you something," she said, nodding to herself. "A gift."

"Poppy, you know I don't like getting gifts when you all don't get anything."

She smiled. "But you'll like this gift."

She seemed to forget her fear, moving to his side and holding out a small dagger.

"Poppy," Robin whispered. "How did you get this?"

"I got it from a blacksmith. He was all angry. Said it was ruined. He was going to melt it down, but I thought you'd want it."

Robin nodded faintly, understanding. He turned the dagger over in his hand, examining the awkward curve of the blade, the way the steel bent upward in jagged arcs. He smiled at Poppy one more time. "Thank you," he said. "It might not be able to kill a man proper, but it can hurt him."

"Who would you want to kill?" she asked quizzically.

Robin hesitated a moment before he held out his right arm to her. "The man who did this," he said. "Janos Slynt."

Poppy nodded faintly in understanding. "He must be bad if he did that to you."

Robin shrugged slightly. "I suppose I did deserve it. I stole."

Poppy shook her head, taking his shoulder and squeezing lightly. "He shouldn't have hurt you."

Robin managed a chuckle, freeing himself from Poppy's grip. "You're kind, Poppy. That means a lot."

She smiled broadly, clearly pleased with herself. Robin couldn't help but smile in return. Poppy was only ten, but she was one of the smartest of the children Robin had taken under his wing. She was small for her age and quick. Her wide, doe-like brown eyes made the kinder shopkeeps turn the other way if she was caught. Robin was quite proud of how well he taught her.

He nudged her forward with a chuckle. "Round up some of the others," he instructed. "I'll find somewhere for us to eat supper. You all try and find something good for us tonight."

"Is tonight special?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I'm just proud of you. We should celebrate your find."

She grinned, nodding before she turned on her heel and ran into the street, Robin watching her with a faint smile.


	3. Chapter Two

Robin stood by the gates to the Red Keep. He watched with wide eyes as wagons rolled through the gates. Eddard Stark had traveled from Winterfell to be the Hand of the King, and Robin wanted to see. He hadn't had many chances to see nobles, much less Northern ones.

His eyes darted along each of the faces. A man with long, graying hair and gray eyes. Lord Eddard.

A girl with black hair and a pointed face who's gray eyes matched Lord Eddard's.

Another girl with bright red hair and wide, innocent blue eyes.

Robin did not know the girls, though he could only guess that they were Lord Eddard's daughters.

The black-haired girl's gray eyes fell upon him, and his lips turned up in a faint smile. She quickly looked away however, and Robin let his smile fade.

He watched the Starks climb from their wagon and be led into the Red Keep, where they vanished from his sight.

Even a faint glimpse of them had been enough to satiate Robin's curiosity, though he wanted to learn more about the Stark daughters. Their names and what they were like. Why the girl with the gray eyes seemed so uncomfortable.

A voice pulled him from his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

He spun to face Poppy, whose head was cocked with confusion. "Nothing," he said. "Watching."

Poppy nodded a bit. "What are you watching?"

"Lord Eddard Stark is here. He's going to be the Hand of the King."

She shrugged. Robin supposed he could understand her disinterest. The orphans of Flea Bottom had little to care about when it came to the nobles. Robin was the only one who let his curiosity get the better of him.

He turned to Poppy fully. "Run off and get some of the others," he said. "I want to teach the younger ones to swim."

"Today?" Poppy asked.

"Aye, today. Go on, now. Rodrik and Beth know how to swim. Find them."

She nodded and hurried off, leaving Robin to himself once more. He let out a sigh. In truth he had only wanted a reason to get Poppy away, but now he would need to teach the younger children to swim. He supposed he could make them wait a moment, but that would make him guilty.

He hesitated a brief moment before he ducked around the wall. His blue eyes scanned the Red Keep. Guards milled around the empty yard, ignoring him. If he dared to go closer, he knew he'd be stopped. But curiosity made him inch forward, eyes wide. A faint smile crept at his lips.

He wished he could explore the castle. Sup with the nobles, drink their Arbor red wine. Dance the night away at a feast.

But he couldn't. He never would be able to experience the lavish lifestyle.

It was not often that Robin let himself be consumed by his thoughts. Not often that he dreamed of the way the nobles lived. Those kinds of thoughts left him bitter and angry, cursing the Gods for giving him the life he had.

It was a long time before he tore himself away from the yard, ducking around a corner and hurrying into the streets, his bare feet thudding against cobblestone.

He found Poppy and a few of the others at the shore, Poppy eying the churning water disdainfully. Rodrik and Beth smiled when they spotted him. "It's a good day for swimming," Beth spoke up, her green eyes shining with delight.

Rodrik nodded. "Aye," he agreed. "The water'll be nice and warm."

Robin smiled the best he could. "Right," he said. "Figured that if the red cloaks come, we could all get away."

"What would the red cloaks want with us?" Poppy asked, suddenly interested.

"Don't know," Robin replied truthfully. "Sometimes they just like to beat on orphans down here."

Poppy cursed quietly, and while Robin normally would have scolded her for cursing in front of the younger children, he understood her reasoning. He offered her a sad smile, as if the gesture alone was enough to calm her.

With a wave of his arm, Rodrik and Beth quickly went into action, leading the younger children out into the water. Robin watched to make sure that they lured them no further than their calves.

It was not long before the group was splashing through the water, laughing merrily. Poppy stayed on the sand, watching. Robin let out a soft sigh before he tramped through the water, reaching out his hand to her. She eyed him quizzically for a moment before taking his wrist, letting him lead her out into the surf.

Soon she was giggling with the others, splashing at Robin and covering him in the salty water. He chased her the best he could, stumbling over the uneven sand and rocks.

He suddenly saw Beth freeze, her eyes scanning the water. "Falyse?" she asked in a weak whisper.

She looked suddenly frantic, scrambling forwards. "Falyse!"

Robin understood then, and his playful smile faded in an instant. The children's voices joined together, screaming over and over. "Falyse!"

Robin's voice caught in his throat. He felt tears stinging his eyes. He shouted with the others, his words choked.

It was Rodrik who found six-year-old Falyse floating on her stomach, her red hair spilled around her face. Beth ushered the younger children away as Robin lurched toward Rodrik, taking Falyse's small form in his arms.

He carried her to the beach and sobbed as he tried his best to force the water from her lungs. Beth kept the younger children away, occupying them with silly songs, though they could hear Robin's strangled sobs as he tried and tried and tried.

Rodrik and Poppy stood on either side of him, eyes downcast and faces expressionless. Poppy took his shoulder in a gentle grip, pulling him back. "She's dead," she whispered to him, but Robin would not listen.

He was meant to protect the children. He was their guardian, the closest thing to a parent they had.

And he'd let one of his children die because he was foolish. Foolish and idiotic.

Rodrik took care of her body, even as Robin fought him and tried to breathe life back into the child.

They buried her as close to the gardens of the Red Keep as they could. She had always loved sneaking past the guards and running among the nobles, weaving crowns of daisies and roses into her hair.

And when the deed was done they stood around her burial spot and prayed silently to Seven.


	4. Chapter Three

Robin was being quiet. Too quiet. It made Poppy nervous as she ventured toward him.

He sat alone in an alleyway, his head low and the fingers of his hand curled into a tight fist around a glass bottle. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, his blue eyes cloudy. "Poppy," he greeted. "I look a mess, don't I?"

"Robin," she said softly, her tone one of concern.

"You only use that voice when you don't want to upset me," Robin said, a half-smile teasing his features. "I must look terrible."

"Robin."

"I'm not a child. There's no need to mince words, Poppy," he snapped. "You want to say something, just say it."

She flinched at his harsh tone. "Just wanted to see how you're feeling."

"I'm feeling perfect, Poppy. Yes, I'm feeling completely fantastic."

He shook his head fiercely. "I'm miserable, Poppy," he said finally. "A child is dead and it's all my fault."

"We were all there," she said. "It wasn't just you."

"I'm supposed to take care of all of you. I'm supposed to be there if you're hurt. Falyse... she's dead. She's dead because I wasn't there!"

Poppy let out a soft sigh. She hated seeing him like this. In the two years she had stayed by his side, she had only seen him so upset one other time. When the red cloaks came to take away a boy named Maron.

They had tried to bring him to the Wall. Maron had fought them and gotten his throat cut in the process. Maron had been fourteen, and he had been close with the then twelve-year-old Robin.

They had buried Maron behind a blacksmith's shop where he had once hoped to become an apprentice. No one had dared to speak of Maron in a long time, fearing what Robin would do if they did.

Poppy stepped into the darkness, shivering despite herself. She'd always hated the dark, ever since she was five. Her mother had been a Septa, and the High Septon seemed to think that Poppy's existence was against the Gods. He'd commanded Poppy be locked away until she converted to the Faith of the Seven. She had only been a little girl then, but Poppy had known that no God would wish such a fate upon a child.

But Poppy's mother had listened. Poppy's mother always listened to the High Septon's words, and she'd always tell Poppy that the Gods knew what was best. Poppy wondered what her mother had thought about her precious Gods when a man slit her throat and threw her body into Blackwater Bay.

Poppy had been eight when the red cloaks visited her house near Fishmongers Square, bringing her the terrible news of her mother's demise. They had forced her to leave the house so it could be sold to someone who would be able to pay for it.

Robin had found her after that, alone and scared and begging the Gods that had wronged her so for her mother back. And she had stayed with Black Robin ever since, never daring to question why his right arm ended in a scarred stump rather than a hand.

Robin had friends and he had food and he was almost as kind as her mother had been. He treated Poppy well and he taught her how to steal. How to sneak and run. She supposed that, over the years, she had grown to love Robin.

But in all the time that she had known him, she had seen his tears few times.

He got to his feet on unsteady legs and stumbled a few steps toward her. His head was low. "Poppy," he murmured. "I... I don't want to have to be in charge anymore."

"No one's forcing you," Poppy said.

"Everyone is forcing me," he interjected. "I'm the oldest. I've seen the most. I... I'm Black Robin. And everyone is counting on me."

He swung his arm up, and from the bottle spilled out a deep red liquid. "Where'd you get wine?" Poppy asked him.

He only shook his head. "A tavern, maybe? I don't know."

He giggled faintly. "It's almost empty."

"Robin, you're drunk," Poppy said.

She forgot her fear as she made way toward him, trying to take the bottle from his hand. He pulled back harshly, taking a step back. "Mine," he stated.

"Robin, please."

"Mine!"

He threw his arm back, wine spilling out across the cobblestones. Poppy let out a sigh, gently taking his right arm. Once she never would have even considered the act, but she held him and looked him in the eyes. "Robin," she said softly.

And he gave in to his tears, dropping the bottle to the ground. It shattered in a burst of red, leaving shards of glass all across the ground. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, even despite Poppy trying to hold him up.

A sob escaped him, and Poppy slowly lowered down to meet his gaze. "Robin," she whispered. "It's all right, Robin. It's all right."

Neither of them knew how long they sat like that. Robin sobbing as Poppy held his arm. When his tears finally stopped, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"It's all right, Robin."


	5. Chapter Four

There was to be a tourney to celebrate Lord Eddard's appointment as Hand of the King. Visitors came from the Reach and all other sorts of places. The city watch was on high alert as the taverns filled nightly, the sound of drunken singing heard throughout the entire city.

Robin was sure to keep the children away from the main parts of the city. Even the Gods didn't know what he would do if he lost another so soon. The city watch would gladly send them away. Orphanages for the younger children, where Robin knew they would receive little food and care. The Wall for older boys, the Night's Watch always needed new men.

He didn't know where Poppy would go. She would refuse an orphanage, more often than not they were run by Septas and he knew that would dredge up memories she only wanted to forget.

More likely than not she would hide away. Forced into the darkness like Robin. She would be taken or sold away. Hired into a brothel for measly pay only to die one day at the hands of a drunken knight.

He tried not to think about those kinds of things. All the things he could do wrong that would ruin the lives of all the children in his care. He never meant to cause them harm, but some days they returned with scrapes and bruises saying that they had been chased away. And Robin would dry their tears and say that he still was proud of them.

He wanted to watch the tourney. The gallant knights and the pretty ladies all dressed in fineries. He had heard some men talking about Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden. The Knight of the Flowers, handsome and loved by all.

Robin had dreamed of being a knight when he was young. When he was a boy his mother, Daisy, had told him the tales of Florian the Fool and Ser Duncan the Tall. Of the Blackfyre Rebellion and the brave men who killed and rode the dragons.

His mother had been the kindest woman he had ever met. Beautiful and golden haired. Gentle, with the loveliest singing voice Robin had ever heard. She sang to him the songs about Jonquil and Jenny of Oldstones. When the spring sickness bled the life out of her she held his hand and sang to him the sad songs. The Rains of Castamere and The Day they Hanged Black Robin.

The last song he heard her sing was the Song of the Seven. A lullaby for little children, long forgotten by many but engraved permanently in Robin's mind. He had been six when she died.

He never spoke of his mother with the other children. Nor his father, Farlen, who had died fighting in the Greyjoy Rebellion when Robin was four. Cut down by some Greyjoy knight. He couldn't remember much of his father, but he knew he was a sellsword. He had been hired by King Robert Baratheon to join the fighting at Pyke. If Robin thought very hard he could remember his father's face. Creased like old leather and tanned by working in the sun. Shining blue eyes that narrowed when he laughed.

Robin sighed as he walked, letting his head fall low. His eyes wandered the shops around him. He liked the Street of Steel. Sparks always lit up the sky and it smelled of brimstone. The glowing fires made the cobblestones feel warm against his bare feet.

He found himself once more at the entrance of the shop owned by the old man, though the only one working was the younger man. "Hello," he said.

The younger man turned around, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of Robin. "You're the one who knocked over all those shields. What are you doing back here?"

"I just want to watch," Robin said. "I like to watch the sparks."

The younger man laughed at that. "What's your name?" he demanded.

"Robin."

"Right. Well, Robin, if you don't leave I'll have to make you."

Robin was not deterred. "I've said my name. Tell me yours."

The man let out a sigh. "Gendry," he said. "Now get on. If Mott comes back, he won't be as nice as I am."

Robin shrugged faintly. "Don't mind that none. People have been unkind to me for years."

Gendry shook his head. "You're stubborn," he stated. "In this city, that won't do you any good."

"I know that."

"Do you really?"

Robin chuckled despite himself, which earned a faint smile from Gendry. "How old are you?" Gendry asked him.

"Thirteen," Robin said. "What about you?"

"Seventeen."

Robin nodded a bit. Gendry finally sighed, taking a step toward him. "You should go," he said. "If Mott comes back and sees you, he won't be happy."

"All right," Robin said. "I'll go."

Gendry watched him leave, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself.


	6. Chapter Five

Robin tried his best to stay quiet as he navigated his way through the crowd. The tourney pitch was filled with excited spectators, all of them noble save the orphan boy who hid in the shadows.

He had worn shoes that day. Simple and made of leather, their soles worn and the laces frayed, but it didn't matter to him. He had bathed and washed his clothes in a stream, and his damp hair clung to his forehead. He looked out of place among the nobles, but he didn't care. If anyone asked, he was a squire. That was the plan, and he was sure it would work.

His eyes landed on Eddard Stark's daughters. They sat together in the stands with a Septa beside the gray-eyed girl, who bounced excitedly in her seat.

It was a stupid idea and he knew it, but he found himself climbing up the stands. He kept his head lowered as he sat in front of the Stark daughters.

Conversation surrounded him, but one voice stuck out above the rest. "Who are you?"

He looked up to meet the gray eyes that stared down at him. "I'm a squire, m'lady," he said quickly.

"For whom?" the septa beside her asked.

Robin swallowed nervously. "Ser Loras Tyrell."

The red-haired girl shook her head. "That can't be true," she stated. "The Knight of the Flowers would never have someone like you for a squire."

"Sansa, dear," the septa scolded lightly. "Don't be impolite."

"Ser Loras is very charitable, my ladies," Robin said, trying his best to think as he spoke. "A good man."

That seemed to satiate Sansa. "Oh, yes, of course," she said. "Ser Loras is just wonderful, isn't he, Arya?"

The gray-eyed girl, Arya, snorted, ignoring Sansa and looking back down at Robin. "So you're from Highgarden?" she asked him.

"No, m'lady. I'm from King's Landing."

"What's your name?"

"Robin, m'lady. Like the song."

Arya chuckled. "What kind of mother would name her child after that song?"

"Arya!" Sansa snapped.

"Arya, don't be rude," the septa added.

Robin smiled. "It's all right, I don't mind. My mother liked to sing, and she wanted to name me for a song. But all the songs are about girls, it seems."

"Or Florian the Fool," Sansa said. "Or even Duncan Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonflies."

Robin only shrugged. "Perhaps my mother just liked sad songs more, m'lady."

A man was sat beside Sansa, and he suddenly spoke up. "But what mother would name a child after such an ill-fated man?"

Robin shook his head, meeting the man's gaze. "I'm afraid I don't know, m'lord."

"I've been sitting here for days!" a loud voice cried from above, and when Robin looked up he realized that it was the king himself. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself."

The crowd broke into cheers as the competitors rode out, one a giant of a man. "Gods, who is that?" Sansa asked.

The man beside her answered. "Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother."

"And his opponent"?" Sansa asked.

"Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."

Both men bowed before King Robert, who only sighed loudly. "Yes, yes, enough of the bloody pomp. Have at it!"

They rode to either side of the pitch, lances at the ready.

Hooves thundered against the dirt as they rode toward each other. Their first try missed, and they positioned themselves to begin again.

Robin watched excitedly, leaning forward in his seat as they charged forward. And suddenly there was a cry from Sansa as Ser Hugh was thrown from his horse. Robin saw red spilling from a gaping wound in the man's throat, a shard of wood embedded in the wound.

Some of the women screamed, though most of the crowd remained silent. Eyes wide with horror and mouths hanging open. Robin's hand shook at his side, and he slowly curled it into a fist.

Two men half-carried Ser Hugh off of the pitch.

Above Robin, the man was whispering to Sansa, though Robin couldn't hear. She was nodding slowly, a terrified look on her face.

Robin closed his eyes and tried his best to forget the image.


	7. Chapter Six

Robin attended the next round of the joust, sitting above Sansa and Lord Eddard, who looked around with confusion. "Where's Arya?" he asked Sansa.

"At her dancing lessons," Sansa said.

A smile suddenly spread across her face as a man rode onto the pitch to join Ser Gregor, who's horse pawed at the dirt. "The Knight of the Flowers," Sansa grinned.

Robin cursed to himself and hoped that Sansa would not notice him. If he were not at Loras Tyrell's side, too many questions would arise.

Loras smiled as he rode forward, a red rose in his hand. He held it out to Sansa, who blushed when she took it. "Thank you, Ser Loras."

His smile broadened, but Robin noticed he did not meet Sansa's gaze. Instead, his eyes drifted upward to a young man, who raised an eyebrow and smiled in return.

Loras turned, riding to the end of the pitch. Sansa took her father's arm tightly. "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," she begged.

"Hey," Eddard said softly.

She shook her head fiercely, looking down at her feet. "I can't watch."

Two men began speaking near Robin, but he ignored them, staring out at the pitch, where Ser Gregor's horse bucked and neighed softly, kicking up clouds of dirt. Loras was smiling faintly.

"He's going to die," Sansa stated.

"Ser Loras rides well," Eddard said.

A trumpet blew and the men rode at each other. The crowd broke out into cheers as Ser Gregor was thrown from his horse, crashing into a fence. Loras grinned, waving to the people.

Ser Gregor got to his feet, anger clear in his expression. "Sword!" he roared, and a squire quickly hurried out to hand him the weapon.

His horse stumbled to its feet. Robin's eyes went wide with horror as Gregor's sword cleaved through the animal's neck, it's head falling to the dirt. The people screamed.

He advanced at Loras, who's blue eyes went wide. He managed to bring his shield up just in time to block Gregor's swing, though he was knocked from the back of his horse.

Loras rolled onto his back, hiding beneath his shield, which Robin knew would be little help against his giant competitor.

"Leave him be!" a voice snapped, and Robin turned to see another large figure, his face half-covered by a scar, making his way onto the pitch.

He drew his sword, blocking Gregor's next swing. For a few moments they grappled as Loras crawled back, terrified. The sound of steel against steel rang in Robin's ears. "Stop this madness in the name of your king!" King Robert shouted.

In an instant the new man dropped into a kneel, his head lowered just enough to avoid a wide swing from Gregor, who threw his sword to the dirt. A few men tried to block Gregor as he walked off the pitch, but Robert's words stopped them. "Let him go!"

Loras got to his feet slowly, a smile starting to form on his face. "I owe you my life, Ser," he said to the man.

"I'm no ser," the man answered.

Loras didn't seem to care about that as he took the man's arm, raising it high in the air. He grinned as the people began to cheer and clap, Robin laughing despite himself. The man bowed his head awkwardly.

When the events of the day ended, Robin made way back into the streets of Flea Bottom. He spotted a small shop as he passed, the heavy smell of roasting meat surrounding it. A few of his children were gathered at the door, holding small birds by their broken necks. Waiting for bowls of brown. Robin never dared to eat the stuff. Meat of questionable origin was often included, and while it was a hearty meal, he feared what it could contain.

He offered the children a smile and waved before he continued deeper into the city, where small houses lined the streets, teetering so far forward that they nearly touched. Children ran about, their mother's chattering. A few men sat in a circle, drinking from a skin and playing some sort of a game with a sharp blade.

A young girl, scarcely older than Robin, stood in front of a brothel, a sheepish smile on her face as she took the hand of a man.

There was a sudden shout from the circle of men, and Robin saw blood as one of them raised his hand, his finger sliced down the side. They cheered and laughed, pulling his arm down and stuffing a large cup of ale into his hand.

Robin watched them drink heavily before they started the game again. He wondered how they could find the danger to be fun.

"Robin."

He turned to see Poppy, a surprising thing since she hardly ventured into the busier parts of Flea Bottom. He offered a smile. "Poppy. How are you?"

"I'm well," she said. "But we think Rodrik's come down with redspots."

"Redspots," Robin muttered to himself, his tone doing little to hide his annoyance. "Do we have money for a salve?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Beth handles our money."

"Go talk to Beth, then. If we have enough, send her to one of the orphanages to ask for a salve. If we don't- -" Robin let out a short sigh. "Rodrik'll have to wait for it to go on its own."

Poppy nodded. "Where have you been?"

"Been sneaking into the tourney. Watching the joust."

"That's a stupid idea."

Robin chuckled despite himself. "You're right," he admitted. "I must be the stupidest orphan in the world."

"I don't mean that you're stupid," Poppy said. "You just do stupid things."

He shrugged faintly. "Go on, Poppy. Rodrik is going to need all the care he can get."

"I've never been one for care," Poppy said.

"You care for me."

"You're different."

A smile played at his lips. "Well," he said. "Spare some care for Rodrik. If he does have redspots, he'll need something to keep his mind off of it."

Poppy nodded a bit. "All right."

Robin watched her go, smiling.


End file.
